


Interlude: Hanging

by Tipsy_Kitty



Series: Puppy Verse [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Puppy Play, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark discovers what Jensen's been up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Hanging

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published to Livejournal 9/22/12.

“You’ve been a very busy dog,” Mark said, standing over Jensen, who was lying on his back watching the night sky light up with stars. Jensen got to his feet and silently followed Mark back into the house.

In the playroom Mark pointed to the cage Jensen had been delivered in more than a year before and Jensen crawled inside. It was a tight fit, the top of the kennel pressing metal squares into his back if he tried to get up on his hands and knees, so he slumped down and waited for what was to come.

“I have to pick up some supplies for you, you bad dog,” Mark said. “Sit tight.”

Jensen waited, for hours, fretting and stewing and certain that acid was eating away at the lining of his stomach. He would have tossed and turned if there had been room in the cage. Jensen thought maybe Mark had picked up a smaller kennel at some point, he did not remember being so uncomfortable on his delivery date. He certainly hadn't gained any weight since his diet was reduced to little more than p.e.t. kibble and the odd table scrap.

Mark never came back that night, which gave Jensen plenty of time to imagine the horrors that might await him.

The next morning when Mark entered the playroom he was whistling "The 12 Days of Christmas." In April. He unlocked the cage and hauled Jensen out from his ankles and up onto numb legs that didn’t want to support him.

“I’m thinking it’s more like 'The 12 Days of Bad Doggy Gets What’s Coming to Him,'” Mark said.

“Catchy, “said Jensen.

Mark backhanded him and snapped, “No talking. I don’t want to gag you yet--I like hearing you scream too much. Now get in the bathroom.”

As he handled Jensen’s daily cleansing routine, Mark said, “Guess who’s taking a personal day today? I decided I needed some time to set my house in order.”

When Jensen was cleaned out, bathed, and dried, Mark pulled some shiny black sleeves out of a shopping bag and said, “Aww, doggy’s finally going to get his paws.”

Jensen backed away and Mark was on him in a flash, throwing him to the hard floor and sitting on his stomach.

"You know, you've caused me and my friends a lot of trouble," Mark said as he went about yanking the tight rubber puppy mitts up over Jensen's hands. Jensen fought and squirmed and wriggled his fingers but still within minutes Mark was pulling the second one up over his fist. Jensen's hands were folded up firmly and the rubber extended up past his elbows, and within a few seconds his skin felt sweaty and wrong.

"Take these fucking things off!" Jensen snarled.

Mark ignored him. "There's one problem fixed," he said with satisfaction as he stood up. "I've got some for your feet too, but after I put those on, you won't be able to stand, so I’m going to hold off on those for awhile.”

Jensen thrashed, feeling panicked and helpless with the loss of his fingers. He'd worn mitts for Mark before but they'd been soft and roomy and he didn't have to stay in them too long. These made his skin feel like it couldn't breathe, made him feel like he couldn't breathe. He didn't know how Jared could stand never using his fingers, for more than a year now, and he started to get an inkling about how it was that Jared had retreated so far from his own humanity.

 

 

Mark dragged him by his electrified collar over to a stool in the center of the room and shoved him up onto it. Then he dragged his own stool over from the corner and stood facing Jensen, smiling wickedly.

"You know, I always kind of hoped you'd show your ass enough someday so I could really make you fall in line."

Jensen ignored him as best he could, standing at his full height, ready to face whatever came. Revolutionaries throughout history had done no less; he would do his best to carry on the torch.

Besides, everybody knew martyrs were the best lightning rod.

"You've caused me and my friends a lot of trouble, bad doggy," Mark said. “But I think I know how you can fix this mess.”

Jensen crossed his arms, twitching at the feel of the rubber sleeves, and waited.

“See, now all these do-gooders are crawling out of the woodwork, bitching about ‘cruel and unusual’ and ‘this inhumane system’ and trying to end the PET program. Blah blah blah.”

Mark hooked heavy cuffs around Jensen’s wrists and clipped them together with a sturdy chain.

“Of course, you and I know that’s never going to happen.”

He reached up to fiddle with the chain of the hook protruding from the ceiling so that it was considerably shorter.

“But still, it’d be a lot simpler if you hadn’t run off to your reporter friend and blabbed our family secrets, right?”

He raised Jensen's arms over his head, up, up, until the cuffs were over the hook.

“So, I think the simplest way to fix this is for you and me to go on TV and tell the press our side of the story. You know, how you’ve been a masochist for most of your sexual life, and how we’ve fallen in love despite the odds and the owner/p.e.t. guidelines. How much you loved having me spank your balls. What do you think?”

“Fuck you,” Jensen hissed.

“Later,” Mark said. “Now? Now I want to hear you scream.”

Mark shoved the stool out from under Jensen’s feet so Jensen jerked down and was left hanging a foot off the ground by his wrists. A shout tore out of him before he could stop it at the sudden wrenching pain in his shoulders and his wrists.

Jensen had never realized before what a kindness it was to be stretched up onto his tiptoes during one of these hangings. Now, a foot off the ground, his shoulders were screaming and he was pretty sure his sprained wrist was turning into a fractured wrist.

Could the bone actually break if he hung here long enough? Jensen thought it probably could.

Mark lounged against the table, watching Jensen moan and turn slow half circles. Jensen felt like a side of beef hanging in a refrigerator truck. With less dignity. Mark was filming him, of course, to prove to Jensen that nothing had changed and nothing would change.

A clock hung on the wall in front of him and Jensen could have sworn the minute hand never moved, but somehow 30 minutes had passed. Jensen moaned softly and tried to will his shoulders to stay in their sockets.

"You know, the human body really can't take this kind of suspension for very long," Mark said as he stepped up behind Jensen. "Did you know there are documented cases of people dying after hanging like this for only five minutes?"

Mark placed his hands on Jensen’s hips and tugged downward. The strain on his wrists and shoulders ratcheted up, something Jensen would not have thought possible ten seconds before.

"Of course, they probably weren't as healthy a specimen as you are," Mark continued. "I bet we could get closer to an hour before serious nerve damage starts to set in. What do you think?"

Jensen moaned as his body broke out in a fresh cold sweat.

"Did you know I wrote my master's thesis on enhanced interrogation?" Mark asked casually, as he picked up the stool and walked around so he was facing Jensen again. He waved the stool in front of Jensen's face.

"Say please."

"Please," Jensen gasped. "Please."

Mark pushed the stool under his feet and Jensen groaned as the stress was taken off of his shoulders and wrists.

"You can stand for 10 minutes," Mark said as he walked towards the door. "Then you're hanging again. Let's try for 45 minutes this time, hmm?"

After a brief, terribly brief respite where Jensen could relieve his agony by standing on his own feet, Marked removed the stool again. Jensen hung, arms and shoulders blazing in agony, praying for Mark's speedy death.

As promised, Mark let him hang for 45 minutes before giving him another 10 minute break. This time he let Jensen's arms down from the hook, and the feeling of blood rushing through his numb hands was like the pain of a thousand needles.

Ten minutes never passed more quickly.

“Okay, you stupid dog," Mark said. "Up you go.”

“Sick fuck,” Jensen gasped. “I’m not saying what you tell me to." He swallowed, breathed deep. "I don’t care if you do this till my fucking arms fall off.”

Mark gave him a gleeful smile and Jensen imagined himself as an insect, Mark as the curiously cruel 8-year-old who was pulling off his wings to see what would happen next.

“I’m not doing this to get you to recant,” Mark said. “I’m doing this because you broke into my study. Getting you on the talk show circuit, that’s just a matter of time.”

The third time Mark hoisted him up again Jensen sobbed, to his shame. He felt sure his injured wrist was going to snap in two, and the pain in his shoulders and arms was excruciating. Plus it was getting harder to breathe and he wondered if hanging like this was akin to being crucified, wondered if his chest would eventually cave in.

Mark walked over to the wall where some of his tools were hanging. He was whistling again and Jensen hoped very much to one day be holding the gun that blew Mark’s face away.

He didn’t want to see what Mark was doing but he couldn’t stop himself. He wasn’t sure how things could get much worse, he was pretty sure ligaments in his left shoulder were beginning to pull away from the bone.

Of course, things could always get worse.

Mark returned with a long spreader bar. “Get that thing the fuck away from me!” Jensen hissed.

"Right!" Mark said, as though suddenly remembering something, and picked up a black ball gag, larger than any he'd used on Jensen before. Jensen shook his head wildly, he hated the gags so much and they gave him terrible headaches, but Mark stepped up on the stool in front of Jensen and made short work of securing it around his head.

“You might get a little loud for this next part. The neighbors have been pretty understanding but I don’t want to press my luck.”

He clipped the bar to Jensen’s ankle cuffs so his legs were spread far apart. Then he ran his fingers slowly up the cleft of Jensen’s ass.

Jensen twisted away and then screamed through the gag at the additional stress his writhing body had placed on his shoulders.

“That looked pretty painful,” Mark said. He actually sounded like he cared, which made Jensen want to stab him a thousand times over.

Mark stepped up behind Jensen and tugged his hips down again. Then he stopped and said “You know, I’ve always found spreader bars can be as much of a hindrance as a help sometimes. I don’t want this stupid thing banging into my shins while I fuck you.”

He attached a chain to the bar and then lifted, lifted Jensens's screaming thighs until they were hanging from the same hook as his wrists.

"That's better," Mark said, as he lubed up his dick and drove into Jensen.

"Sooo. Much. Better."


End file.
